


Between Breaths

by Bad Samaritan (quodpersortem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dry Humping, Fantasizing, Gift Fic, M/M, Magic Fingers, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Episode: 9x13, Sexual Fantasy, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Bad%20Samaritan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt: </b>Dean gets time alone with a Magic Fingers machine and a pillow (and an optional pair of satin panties), and humps the pillow while listening to raunchy songs he wouldn’t be seen dead listening to on a normal day (eg. Between Breaths by Blaqk Audio), and fantasising about bottoming to a guy (any guy, doesn’t have to be Cas).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Breaths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almaasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/gifts).



For all that Dean loves spending time at the bunker, sometimes he is itching to simply drive. Not to go on a hunt, not to find an anonymous bar, but to be on the road.

If this had been ten years ago, ten months—weeks, even—he would have asked for Sam to come along.

As it is, Dean finds himself in a motel room, a couple hundred miles from Lebanon in a dusty little town. He’s relaxed, soothed by the slightly cloying smell of lemon detergent in the bedroom; the sheets are stiff with it and the carpet looks worn. 

He collapses on his back on the bed, wondering if they have memory foam here for a moment before he realizes that it’s not that; it’s the all-familiar Magic Fingers box placed on the night table. Digging into his pocket, he finds plenty of coins to last him at _least_ half an hour, and he knows that there are some more in his wallet should he need them.

It’s nice, lying on the vibrating bed with his eyes closed, but it’s not as nice as back when his muscles were sore all the time, when his mind was aching to go to sleep and at the same time too busy worrying about the next case. 

Then again, there are some parts to this that are better now than back when. Especially the bit where Sam’s not in the room, nor about to storm into the room. His MP3-player plays some unmentionable songs that never fail to get him into the mood, heavily distorted guitars and rough singing, ‘ _Make it, make it, make it harder to breathe_ ’.

It’s enough to settle sharp anticipation in his stomach, and Dean allows it to grow as he presses his hand to his crotch before turning over to his stomach. 

He closes his eyes as he sinks his head into the pillow, rolling his hips against the bed. The silk panties he’s wearing underneath, the expensive kind, provide wonderful friction and he moans quietly, barely audible over the sound coming from his ear buds as he pushes his hips down harder.

Dean reaches between his legs, awkwardly bunching up the sheets before he gives up, frustrated for a moment before he decides to pull off his clothes first.

Well, most of them. He leaves on the panties.

Then he grabs the second pillow on his bed, because _shit_ , the pillowcases better be changed and cleaned between guests anyway. Dean _would_ have done this at the bunker, if it weren’t for the fact that he needs to sleep on that pillow. With, you know, his face. Here, he can throw the filthy pillow off the bed once he’s done and not worry about waking up with a face covered in spunk.

Still, it takes a couple of breaths before lust overpowers guilt. Then he lifts up his hips and remembers the first time he did that for a pillow, right before Joe fucked him right into the bed.

Dean feels his face and chest flush as he lies back down, butt up in the air as the Magic Fingers continue to buzz on. He presses his skin against the cool mattress before rolling his hips down—and after some shifting, his dick finds a perfect groove in the pillow, the head pressing against the lace waistband of his panties. 

He starts to push against the pillow, carefully, resting his body’s weight on one arm as he reaches the other around to ghost over his hole, dragging the digit over the thin strip of silk wedged between his cheeks.

He’s taking it slow, and he’s nowhere near yet, but his dick leaks precome as he imagines someone fucking him _right now_. He’s been too tired to go out and find anyone; too preoccupied with other things, with how he feels and how they feel and how everything fucks up in his life, but that doesn’t mean the _urge_ isn’t still there. If he’d been ten years younger and alone in this room, he’d have gone out and found someone to make sweet fuckin’ love with the Magic Fingers on.

As it is, fantasies have their own perks.

It’s okay that he doesn’t have a face in mind, for example. Dean might like guys, occasionally, but he’s generally pickier than when he picks up a girl. Knows he wants a pretty face, a lil’ scruff. He likes the stubble against his skin and traces those areas with his fingernails, scraping them gently across his skin until his hips push forward by accident.

It leaves him gasping and he takes a couple of deep breaths as he spins out his fantasy further. The guy would ideally be younger than him, and stronger. Not strong enough for Dean to feel seriously underpowered, but he wants someone that can take him apart.

Shit, _no_ , Dean thinks as he gasps, pushing forward again. He wants anyone that can fuck him, grip his hips until they leave bruises, until he comes on the guy’s dick alone.

He can feel the material of the panties sticking to the head of his own cock, precome slowly dribbling out as he continues to push his hips against the soft mound. He’s gasping into the other pillow, trying to move his hips faster but it doesn’t _work_ , almost infuriatingly so, and the images flow into his mind just like that, ones of Cas trying to jerk off and getting upset by how it doesn’t work until he puts on porn, or until he remembers watching Dean.

Not that Dean _knows_ of any instances where Cas spied on him, but the idea has him moan louder, his dick twitching against the pillow as he shoves his hips against it _fast_.

_Shit_. He bets Cas would fuck him good. Hell, Cas probably wouldn’t know about holding back, and even if he did, he knows Dean’s limits. A full-body shiver runs through Dean, and he pushes his panties out of the way, squeezing the pillow between his legs and holding it in place with one hand as he ruts against it. 

Cas wouldn’t even start slow, he’d bottom out in one go and he’d let his hips move, Dean is sure of it. He hasn’t learnt how to be quiet either—Dean found out about that himself, that one evening at the room they shared after the not-date Cas had with Nora, Cas getting off in the other bed—and fuck. _Fuck_. He _would_ bruise Dean’s hips, even if it was just because Dean would beg him for it.

The fabric he’s breathing against is growing damp and he buries his face in it, leaning on his head as he imagines Cas’ dick moving in and out of him, and he’d hit that sweet spot time and again, and his dick slides easily in his own precome until his body almost doesn’t want to move anymore, his muscles don’t want to but he’s pushing through it faster and faster—

And then he’s about to come, on that knife’s edge, and he realizes that the buzz of the Magic Fingers has stopped but he can’t stop himself now, not even when he frantically grabs at the base of his dick, shooting all over the pillow as he grinds down into it, gasping into the second pillow until his muscles finally unlock, relax, and his body sinks down onto the bed.

He’s not sure how loud he was, but Dean can hear a ringing in his own ears as he swallows a couple of times—his mouth ran dry sometime along the session; one of the ear buds fell out and he didn’t even notice. 

“Ugh,” he utters before rolling over to his back, glaring at the patch of come smeared across his lower belly, because that means he’ll have to go clean up. 

He gives himself another two minutes—any longer and he’ll fall asleep, after a good orgasm like today’s—and then he kicks off the panties all the way and pads over to the bathroom for a quick rinse with a washcloth. He doesn’t trust his mushy muscles to stay upright in a slippery shower right now.

Dean quickly brushes his teeth then, which is nice because it makes his mouth feel less dry and it will make him less thirsty if he wakes up in the middle of the night, and then he returns to the bed. 

He’s about to kick the pillow off before he realizes some maid will have to take off the pillowcase, and strips it off himself. He’s done enough laundry by now to know he doesn’t want to be faced with someone else’s jizz, especially if it’s dried. At least this way, they can throw it in the washing machine right away.

Then he huddles up under the blankets, falling asleep within minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun stuff: In Slaughterhouse Five, Vonnegut actually refers to Magic Fingers as a “vibrator”. (I’m not above admitting that that confused me at first, and then made me laugh for about an hour, because oh Dean).
> 
> More fun stuff: This is actually my profession of love for Almaasi because regardless of most people having read at least one of her fics, they are still the best ever and everyone should read everything. Yup. (Also, your sex is great and I know I have said that before but you are one of the few authors that actively inspires me and, you know, makes me look more critical at the way I describe the consistency of their spunk. And stuff. Yup.)


End file.
